The Battlefable Chronicles 4: Relics & Power
by Brother Andyn
Summary: The Battlefable Chronicles: A history of warring armies in the savage world of Warhammer.
1. 3 Battle Reports

The Battlefable Chronicles A history of warring armies in the savage world of Warhammer This is a story, of great battles and mighty heroes, dark warlords and evil deeds. This tome recounts the events written in blood upon the battlefields of the Warhammer World and tells of the great enmity between the forces of Good, and the minions of Darkness. Scribed by Brother Andyn BATTLE OF WAYSTONE RIDGE 

The newly arisen Daemon Prince, Cronus, has sent his underling Aeolus Scarheart to claim an ancient, elven waystone in the northern reaches of the Empire. With this stone under his control, the Daemon Prince will gain much favour in the eyes of the Dark Gods. Naturally a force of High Elves sent from Marienburg isn't going to let the stone go that easily…

SCENARIO STATISTICS

**Points:**

1000

**Participants:**

Chaos Beasts

(Andy Bain)

High Elves

(Simon Marshall)

**Scenario:**

Pitched Battle

**Location:**

Laurelorn Forest, northern Empire

**Timeline:** 2522 (Empire Calendar)

THE ARMIES

**Chaos Beasts:**

The Horns of Hellfire

**General:**

Aeolus Scarheart

**High Elves:**

Unnamed High Elf force

**General:**

Unnamed High Elf Commander

THE STORY SO FAR…

The newly created warband, known as the Horns of Hellfire, has rampaged south from the Chaos Wastes in the wake of Cronus' ascension. A Daemon Prince, he was once a High Elf of the realm of Chrace. His complete history can be read elsewhere – now he is engaging in a bid for power against the many other Daemon Princes of the four Chaos Gods. A series of waystones, monoliths and other great menhirs of power have therefore attracted Cronus' attention as a sure way to gather power, and to summon hosts of all things chaotic to his command. Aeolus Scarheart, Cronus' fellow once-High Elf, has accepted the mission to venture south and claim the first of these stones. Now all that stands between The Horns of Hellfire and gaining prominence is a small force of High Elves dispatched from the port of Marienburg. If they are successful in stopping Scarheart and his beasts the northern forests of the Empire will be safe, for a while. But if Aeolus is victorious…

TURNS 1-6

With a bray of battle-lust, the beastmen surged towards the enemy lines. The earth shook with thundering hooves as Gors, Ungors, Minotaurs and Tuskgors churned up the rocky soil. The hounds also pounded across the field, heading for the flanks and centre of the High Elf army. The Elves stood proud and tall, the wind fluttering on pennants and the sunlight glinting on shining silver armour. Beneath azure skies they were clustered on the ridge, around the elven waystone. Today the fate of this waystone was in their hands. Silver Helm Knights held their ground, awaiting the storm of blood. A company of archers nocked arrows to bows, and standing ready was an Eagle's Claw Repeater Bolt Thrower. Dire consequences lay in wait for the beasts that dared to charge against them. On the left flank, the Shadow Warriors took up their positions within the forest, out of sight but bringing their lethal bows to bear on the hated beasts. The Elf Commander smiled grimly. Surrounded by his bodyguard of spearelves, he was confident of victory. The beasts would be whittled down by the missile fire and then smashed in bloody close combat as the enemies tried to get a foothold on the higher ground.

Aeolus Scarheart narrowed his eyes as his host of mutated monstrosities powered forwards. It amused him to fight his once-brethren. For a moment he let his mind flicker back to the days as a High Elf, in Ulthuan. Those glorious days, they were full of warmth and friendship. But those days were gone. Now it was a new age, of blood, magic and power. Here, in the heart of Laurelorn, he would achieve his first victory in the name of Chaos. Cronus trusted him greatly; and he in turn would not displease his godly master. As the wind picked up and howled like a wounded wolf, disturbing the leaves on the trees sparsely dotted around the glade, he glanced over at the object of his reasons for being here.

The waystone stood in the centre of the ridge, a tall, white obelisk that gleamed with iridescent power. It thrust upwards like a horn from the spine of a dragon, and strange, elven runes ran down its glorious length. It was beautiful. It was crafted from the hand of a true master. And it was exactly what Lord Cronus wanted.

'Fire!' The captain of the archers waved his sword in a swift arc, and a wave of white-fletched arrows descended upon the chaotic hounds. Numerous hounds were cut down by steel-fanged death, their corpses littering the slopes like oversized, twisted insects. Yet they were expendables, by dying in the name of Chaos they were serving their one purpose. Attracting the missile fire away from the deadly Kallicantzari and the Sons of Aries was why the Daemon had utilised their speed and aggression. There was no other reason.

Then the rain of fire and death began to fall upon the beast herds. At first it was only the Ungors that fell, their corpses pitching backwards, pin cushioned, spears dropping from clutching claws. As the hosts neared the elf lines the Gors felt the power of elven archery. The dreaded Eagle's Claw struck like bolts of lightning from the heavens, bringing down Gors and protruding from the woodwork of the Thunder of Cronus. It looked like it could be the end of the beastman hordes.

Snarling in rage, Aeolus let his mind reach out to the Realm of Chaos. His magic was powerful but whimsical. If he could reel off a spell now it could turn the tide of war. Gathering energy to him, he felt the green fires of Tzeentch pooling in the palm of his hand. Spreading his fiery wings, he let out a roar that split the skies and sent a bolt of power flashing towards the High Elf knights.

As the young nobles lowered their lances, preparing for a charge that would crush the beast herds beneath silver-shod hooves, the green fires enveloped them. Gripped by the bizarre magic, they were turned towards their fellows, striking out with swift sword strokes.

The High Elf Commander turned from his position amongst the ranks of glittering spears. Battle had been joined! Or had it? The ear-numbing clang of steel rang through the air, but it was steel on steel, not steel on bronze. Thus he was confused and horrified to find his own cavalry fighting amongst themselves.

The infighting was vicious, brutal and short. A single noble was thrown from the saddle, another's sword impaling the elf through the chest. Briefly, the magic wavered, then died, and the horsemen realized with dismay what they had done. As the Daemon flapped his wings and let out a sinister laugh, the leader turned tail and fled, the rest routing with him. A mild rumble pealed as the riders fled the field, disappearing into the darkened forests.

'Charge! Destroy them for your god, Cronus!'

The Thunder of Cronus crashed into the elven archers. Bodies were trampled beneath bloodied hooves, limbs ripped from sockets and blood stained the earth. It was all over in a few minutes, the archers turning and being brutally run down by the beast-driven chariot.

The time for battle had come as the spearelves met the beasts in combat. On the left flank of the battlefield, the Shadow Warriors put up their bows to engage the Kallicantzari. The clamour of war tore the dimming atmosphere and cries both elf and beast assailed the senses. It was hard-fought and bloody, and in the Realm of Chaos the gods were smiling. But the beasts had the elves outnumbered and outflanked. Time after time their tough hides turned the elves' blades while their bronze axes and sickles scythed down the elves with furious passion.

'You dare to challenge me?' Aeolus raised a brow at the High Elf Commander. The elf did not respond but lifted his blade, one that shone with killing power. As battle raged around the generals, they duelled with hateful lust and steely determination. Blows rang loud and sparks flew as daemonic claw parried slaying sword. But, imbued with the gifts of gods, Aeolus had a clear advantage, eventually wearing the elf commander down. The skies overhead turned dark and thunderheads covered the sun, as if nature herself anticipated the end of this clash of elf versus shadow-elf. The hero, battered and exhausted, stared up at the one who was once like him. His armour was split, his spirit broken. It was time to ascend to join the High Elf Gods.

'Traitor…abandoning your people to the likes of daemons!'

'And now, you die!' Aeolus replied, his daemonic claw closing around the commander's neck. The elf's head leapt from his shoulders with a spray of blood.

With the commander's death the elves were broken, their fighting spirit gone and they turned to flee. Surrounded, they held as the Thunder of Cronus bore down on their position. The chariot had destroyed the Eagle's Claw and cut down its crew. Now, in the shadow of the waystone the elves made a last stand against the beastman hordes.

'Retreat!' The Shadow Warriors, seeing that there was no purpose in laying down their lives, fled the field. Perhaps they would have their vengeance in time; for now they would live and spread the word of a growing evil.

GLORY TO CHAOS!

Aeolus Scarheart closed his eyes. He sat cross-legged beneath the towering waystone. He could feel both the wind of the mortal plane and those of the Realm of Chaos whispering about his feathered wings. Below the beasts made camp, rifling through the corpses. Their vile laughter and the bellowing of the Blood Hunters echoed through the night.

'My lord Cronus, the waystone is ours. We will soon be favoured by the gods.'

A voice, deep and resonating with the tones of daemonic nobility, answered him then. Two gleaming red eyes materialized, flanked by a pair of curled horns, glowing with hell-fires.

'Good, my friend Aeolus, you have done well. Soon the heavens will unleash their wrath against the Empire. But first, my brother, there is a little inconvenience to deal with.'

'My lord?'

'A Slaaneshi warband attacks a Tzeentchian monolith I have yet to capture. We must repel them, and take what is ours.'

'Which path, my lord?'

'The Wind-Torn Oak; bring the Horns of Hellfire on the eve of the third day after Festag.'

'My Lord Cronus, I will be there.'

With a flurry of bright power the visage of Cronus vanished into the darkness.

A CLASH OF EVILS

Aeolus Scarheart has led The Horns of Hellfire through the Paths of the Old Ones, back to a place deep within the Chaos Wastes. Here lies a Tzeentchian monolith. It is under threat by a Slaaneshi warband, led by a six-armed female champion of the Lord of Pleasure. Will Aeolus succeed in driving away her army, or will the stone fall into the hands of a rival god?

SCENARIO STATISTICS

**Points:**

1000

**Participants:**

Chaos Beasts

(Andy Bain)

Chaos Hordes

(Mark Wilson)

**Scenario:**

Pitched Battle

**Location:**

Shadow Valley, Chaos Wastes

**Timeline:** 2522 (Empire Calendar)

THE ARMIES

**Chaos Beasts:**

The Horns of Hellfire

**General:**

Aeolus Scarheart

**Chaos Hordes:**

Tribe of the Mighty Serpent

**General:**

Andariel Serpentsword

THE STORY SO FAR…

The Horns of Hellfire are in control of an elven waystone in Laurelorn Forest. With this they can summon more beasts and monsters, attracted by this glowing beacon. Those that flock to Cronus' unholy banner will replace any beasts slain in battle and, in time, strengthen his army. Now, if Aeolus can take the monolith of the God of Sorcery, he will be able to open a portal to the Realm of Chaos. Then he can summon forth the daemonic minions of Tzeentch, thus supporting Cronus' army with heavenly creatures of the gods.

Naturally, if the forces of Slaanesh gain control of the monolith, the Tribe of the Serpent will be able to use the monolith for their own, twisted ends…

TURNS 1-6

The Tzeentchian monolith stood amongst a cluster of broken rocks and shattered stones, erupting in their midst like a titan surfacing from the deeper hells. It glowed softly, chaotic runes burning slowly with multi-coloured flames that hurt the eyes to look upon. Aeolus knew that this was no mere shrine to the God of Sorcery. It was a portal, one that allowed the Daemons of Tzeentch access to the mortal realm. Above the valley, the skies shone with a purple hue, an aurora twinkling in the violet background.

As the drums of the Marauders rolled out across the plain, like the thunderous impact of boots stamping in the heavens, the sounds were joined by the alternate clashing of weapons on shields. A cry broke out from the battlelines, echoing in the dim shadow of the stony valley. In every voice there spoke fervour, uncontrolled desire and excitement.

'Glory, glory, glory to the Serpent!'

Andariel Serpentsword uncoiled her serpentine body and rose up, unsheathing her six double-edged blades, a pair at a time. They glinted coldly in the flickering northern lights. She slitted her eyes and gazed out at the enemy army. Beasts, beasts and more beasts, nothing but uncivilized, unruly monsters braying for the blood they craved. Her personal warband was well protected and well armed, for the Tribe of the Mighty Serpent was well known for its passion and skill in battle. Such pleasurable experiences were there for the taking; the stealing of another's life with blade-art was unparalleled. Especially when it came to slaughtering mere beasts that understood nothing but destruction and bloodshed. There was so much more to life than that. Then she saw the figure flanked by the aura of his bright wings, standing atop a hillock behind the beasts. A corona of power played about his body. Interesting, she thought. Perhaps the beastmen were not so dull as she had thought. It seemed they could at least recognise someone worth being worshipped: mentally and physically.

'Kill the beasts,' Andariel hissed. 'Leave the daemon. He is mine alone.'

'Yes, my queen,' her lieutenant bowed his head in reverence.

In answer to the Slaaneshi warcry, the beasts roared their response, waving their bronze axes and sickles in the air, before bounding forwards with eager bloodlust. All across the bestial line the monsters bellowed in anticipation of the butchery to come. The tribesmen echoed with their own vocal poison, charging forwards with the excitement of the conflict. As the two armies rushed blindly towards their doom, like two waves of pain and death, Aeolus spread his feathered wings and took to the purple skies.

From up above, resembling a circling hawk amidst the Aethyric winds, he looked down upon the combatants. The Chaos Warriors, disciplined soldiers of Slaanesh, marched in unison, all humanity lost behind their close-visored helms. Amongst these heavily armoured soldiers he spied an intriguing figure. The lower half of her shapely body was that of a snake, and no less than six, slender arms sprouted from her slim, leather and steel-clad shoulders. She was twirling six longswords with consummate ease, each glimmering with magical fires. Her hair was divine, her face, although twisted into a savage mask of sadistic pleasure, equalled the beauty of elf-women he had once known. Something unbidden rose to the forefront of his mind. Should he really be fighting such a woman? His pupils dilated as they lingered on the female. Her warriors faced the Kallicantzari, the strange beastmen spinning their twin axes in figures of eight. On the right flank advanced the tribesmen of the Serpent, fuelled by potent drugs and confident of their heightened prowess. Beasts, no doubt slaves for those who considered themselves above such creatures, thundered forwards to meet the Blood Hunters. On the left flank a pack of daemon-girls, skipping towards the Sons of Aries with wild, perverse delight. Pushing aside his feelings, Aeolus summoned the Cerberus Hounds to him, snarled like a hungry wolf and swooped down towards the Slaaneshi lines. As he did so, the lines of Chaos began to tighten as both forces rushed into battle.

With a mighty crash the armies met and warriors of both sides were thrown into turmoil.

Like a bloody lance the Thunder of Cronus and the Blood Hunters speared into the foe-beasts. Hacking wildly left and right they severed heads and arteries alike. Blood fountained but still the beasts fought back. Horns and fangs came into brutal contact, eyes were ripped from sockets and jaws shattered by powerful blows. Locked in a war of physical toughness and weight of numbers the slave beasts were slowly worn down.

At the heart of the storm, the Kallicantzari stampeded straight into the charging Chaos Warriors. Axes rang from infernal armour. With deft sword strokes bestial blood was spilt and horned heads were toppled from brawny shoulders. The Warriors cut and thrust as the beasts rotated their axes with vicious wrath. The beasts were strong, but the Warriors were stronger. Brutish force was no match for passionate fury. But the beasts held their ground.

'Die before me, you filthy scum!' Andariel shrieked as her six swords fell, each taking the life of a beastman independently. Her blades were a whirlwind of steel, slashing and slicing with dexterous precision. 'Is there not one among you who is not so barbarous?'

The hounds crashed against the barbarian shield wall like a wave washing against a cliff. With zealous shouts and wicked laughter the Marauders cut down the first rank of dogs. Barking and growling in voices of hate, the hounds responded but the shields slammed before them and beat them down. The fighting was short and vicious. As the dogs fled in fear, scurrying away as fast as they could, Aeolus hurtled into the barbarians from the side and he cast his mind into the void, attempting to unleash the fires of Tzeentch. But the winds of magic are fickle.

'Lend me the power I need, ye gods of Chaos!'

The powers of the gods would not come.

The Daemonettes were far superior to the Sons of Aries. With fatal swiftness the daemons danced amidst the muscled monsters, marionettes upon the bloody stage of war. Scythe-like claws snipped vitals and limbs were severed as axes swept through air and barely glanced from the daemons' naked, blood-soaked bodies. Ungor spears could not pinpoint targets as necks were crushed and hooves separated from goat-like ankles. Viscera splattered the ground.

The flanks of the field belonged to Slaanesh. But the heart of the battle was turning in Cronus' favour. As the Horns of Hellfire slowly gained the upper claw, the storm of blood surged, the slave-gors were trampled into the earth, and the numbers of the beasts began to tell. Surrounded by raging Gors, spiteful Ungors, massive Minotaurs and even the Thunder of Cronus, the Chaos Warriors found their hellish armour was finally pierced. Blow after blow rained down on their steely shells, and warrior after warrior fell to the numerical superiority of the beasts. Andariel screamed in frustration as her bodyguard was hacked down, yet every blow of her blades left a beastman as a broken ruin. As her guard fell apart she continued to whirl and kill. Her breastplate was spattered with beastman blood and her hair was tangled and wild. But she cared not. Each kill sent a jolt of pleasure through her, as the life force flowed with liquid fire. But just when the unit was swamped by a horde of claws, horns and Kallicantzari axes, her lieutenant went down and the banner of Slaanesh was ripped asunder, the champion breathed a prayer to her god, swords still slicing. If He heard her, perhaps another conclusion might be reached. She didn't want to die this day.

His glittering bronze armour breached in a dozen places, Aeolus battled with desperation against the tribesmen. Axes and swords cut at him from a multitude of directions, each wielder obsessively trying to experience the exaltation of felling a heavenly being. Suddenly the winds waxed and he was flooded with unholy power.

'Enough!' Aeolus roared; his voice amplified a thousand times as he rose, god-like above the field on feathered pinions. The heavens split and scarlet bolts of flame fell from the skies, splitting up the combatants and forcing them to disperse. As one, the fighting ceased: the clang of steel and the roar of beasts gradually faded away. 'Cease your childish infighting! It is time to put aside our bickering. Together, we can do so much more. Is that not so, Andariel of the Serpentswords?'

At last, the beasts withdrew from her. Breathing heavily, the champion of Slaanesh raised her eyes to the one called Aeolus. He shone brightly to her, like a god hovering, demanding to be treasured. She lowered her swords and found the ability to smile.

'Come down to me, Aeolus Scarheart. Come down and we will…talk.'

Aeolus raised an eyebrow at her.

'Very well,' he replied, a slight smile spreading across his own, elven features.

TZEENTCH DEFEATS SLAANESH

Inside the tent, a structure erected from the skins of men upon a framework of ogrish bones, the two champions worshipped each other. Passions were unleashed and desires fulfilled. Aeolus satisfied his savage lust, realising what great experiences and pleasures he had come to forget. Andariel, also, satiated her deepest cravings, the like of which she had yearned for, ever since joining the Tribe of the Serpent.

After a while of aggressive negotiations, they decided to make a pact, an alliance.

'Together we can rule over the next elven menhir that we will conquer,' Aeolus breathed, his wings changing from green to blue to purple as he spoke. 'My lord Cronus has informed me of a crumbling, lost temple off the coast of the Southlands. This can be our kingdom. Or yours, as I will be away fighting most of the time.' At this he grinned, revealing his fangs.

'I like it, Aeolus Scarheart.' Andariel shifted her body slightly, rustling the silken sheets around them. 'After all, should not a queen have her own realm?'

'In return you will simply provide Cronus with mortal warriors, Chaos Warriors of Slaanesh.'

Andariel shot an inquisitive look at him.

'Will they follow you? I thought you were…'

'It might seem that I am devoted to Tzeentch. But as I have been gifted by all the gods, I can lead them with my own Slaaneshi influence.' Aeolus gestured with his curved, lobster claw.

'I should've known,' Andariel said. 'Then lead my troops well, my champion.' She smiled beguilingly.

Champion of Andariel, Aeolus thought. I like the sound of that.

ANDARIEL'S KINGDOM

Having marched inland through the leafy jungles on Sunstone Isle, Aeolus' forces soon discover the ruined temple mentioned by Cronus. It is well defended by a natural plateau that rises up from the forest. Unfortunately, a High Elf expeditionary force has also landed on the island, seeking ancient artefacts. Aeolus must fight to keep his promise to his beloved Andariel, or the temple will be taken by the elf expeditioners.

SCENARIO STATISTICS

**Points:**

1000

**Participants:**

Chaos Beasts

(Andy Bain)

High Elves

(Stuart Nichols)

**Scenario:**

Pitched Battle

**Location:**

Sunstone Isle, east coast of the Southlands

**Timeline: **2522 (Empire Calendar)

THE ARMIES

**Chaos Beasts:**

The Horns of Hellfire

**General:**

Aeolus Scarheart

**High Elves:**

Prince Menethal's Expeditionary Force

**General:**

Commander Mithrean

THE STORY SO FAR…

Aeolus Scarheart and Andariel Serpentsword have made an alliance. With two mighty standing stones under Cronus' control, the Horns of Hellfire are certainly favoured. With Slaanesh warriors secured, the army is set to include troops both mortal and immortal. Cronus' power swells, and now Aeolus seeks to gain a third menhir to add to his master's collection. In doing so, he will also carve out a kingdom for the beautiful champion of Slaanesh Andariel, from which she can send troops to share in the glory and might of Chaos. However, the quest of Prince Menethal of Ulthuan to find several magical artefacts has clashed with their ambitions. Commander Mithrean and some of the prince's expeditioners are scouting out the coast, searching for lost temples where artefacts might be concealed. Only one side can claim the temple and any artefacts that may or may not be contained within. Once again Aeolus is plunged into battle against his former kindred…

TURNS 1-6

The ruined temple sat atop the plateau like a behemoth, a hulking, stone monster daring any to challenge its ancient might. Surrounded by a fringe of leafy jungle plants, its entrance gaped maw-like and black as pitch. Deep in the bowels of this titan lay the promise of gold, jewels and valuable artefacts.

'We have secured the area, Commander,' the High Elf informed his leader. The commander dismounted from his elven warhorse and nodded his gratitude. Handing the reins to his retainer, he strode over to the edge of the highland, gazing out across this strange land.

'Good, return to the temple and prepare to begin the search. Lord Menethal will be pleased with our discovery.'

Beyond the steaming jungles he could see the faint light of dawn appearing on the eastern horizon. Sunstone Isle: what an excellent place for a secondary gate fortress, he thought. It could be another Fortress of Dawn, another Island of the Sun, policing the ships that sailed into the eastern seas. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He could hear the sounds of birds as the jungle slowly came to life. Here, on the eastern coast of the Southlands, away from the troubles of the world, he could establish a base from which to venture forth on his master's quest. It could be great.

'Commander,' came a voice from behind him, towards the western side of the plateau. He ignored it, trying to contemplate in a moment of balance, peace and serenity.

'Commander,' the voice of his captain came again. 'Commander Mithrean.'

'What is it? Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate?' Mithrean looked around, mightily perturbed. He twisted around, removing his helmet and rubbing his furrowed brow.

The captain looked anxious, and yet tried not to show it. He held a sack in one hand.

'I have just received a report of beastmen marching this way. They will be here in…'

'Beastmen! Unheard of, they don't dwell this far south.'

'Commander, the scouts are not mistaken. However unlikely, they have brought this back, as evidence.' The captain held up a grisly, severed head. It resembled something like a man's head, with short, stumpy horns. It was unmistakably that of an Ungor warrior.

'Damn the gods of chaos, how long did you say we have?'

'Two hours. Shall I prepare the Eagle's Claws?'

'Of course, of course. By the blood of Khaine, we shall destroy these foul beasts.'

'First rank, fire! Kneel, reload! Second rank, fire! Kneel, reload! First rank, fire!'

Volley after volley of arrows sped through the sky, like a hail of steel rain. Warhounds, Gors and Ungors alike fell to their bite as the beasts rushed up the sides of the plateau.

Minutes turned into hours as the missile fire continued. Half the Horns of Hellfire had been felled by the High Elves' deadly bowfire. The archers were aided by two formidable Eagle's Claw Repeater Bolt Throwers, and an escort of the famed Ellyrian Reavers. The bolts and arrows scythed through the beastman ranks like the swords of gods, reaping the vile mutants and whittling down their overwhelming numbers.

This was not going well for the Horns of Hellfire. Not yet, at least. Aeolus slitted his eyes, watching the battle unfolding through the branches of the vine-choked trees. Thick forest clustered around the south and north sides of the plateau. The Sons of Aries, some of their number flaming as the dreaded High Magic took its toll, were making their way through the trees. The Kallicantzari were also engaging in a similar strategy, led by Aeolus himself. With all the missile fire directed forwards, the elves would be vulnerable on their flanks. Soon, the beasts would fall upon them from both sides and crush them in a pincer attack. They would be swept away in a hurricane of blood and death.

'Now, I will create your Kingdom, dear Andariel,' Aeolus Scarheart snarled. 'I will fashion it from the bones of elves, and whet it in their blood.'

He spread his wings wide and raised his hideous claw to the skies. From the heavens there came a deafening crack of thunder and a bright burst of incandescent lightning as the winds of magic responded. As one unit of hounds was engulfed by bolts from an Eagle's Claw repeater bolt thrower, a blast of orange-yellow fire streaked across the field and enveloped the other pack of hounds. Arrows bounced from the gleaming shell, bolt shafts cracked and in a trice the hounds were upon their antagonists. Fangs ripped throats, claws slashed open tunics and the crewmen went down under a flurry of fur, snapping teeth and writhing tentacles. The Eagle's Claws and their Ellyrian Reaver escort were soon overwhelmed as the horde of beastmen poured from the forests and burst up onto the plateau. In the wake of the hounds' attack came the Blood Hunters and the Thunder of Cronus. Flickering fingers of orange power flashed amidst the machine's wheel spokes, driving it with incredible force up the slopes. The roars of beasts split the air as Bestigor and Ungor crewmen waved their crude weapons in bestial fury. To them the chariot was certainly a gift of the gods.

The High Elves stood firm, holding the high ground. They were led by a mage, flames shooting from his fingertips, scorching and burning with each new fireball. Several small comets exploded amidst the Minotaurs' number, but the beasts only roared in rage and charged towards the elves, their bloodlust invigorated. As the monstrous creatures bore down on them the archers unleashed another salvo of shots. Arrow shafts protruded from the woodwork on the chariot, and one Minotaur came crashing down the slopes, its muscled torso full of arrows. But the beasts were unstoppable. They smashed into the spearelves, cutting left, right and centre spilling crimson blood in torrents. Blood soaked the soil and bodies were thrown through the air with every stroke of the Minotaurs' huge weapons.

As the Horns of Hellfire closed around the High Elves and the bloody hack and thrust of close combat ensued, Commander Mithrean knew what was coming. His carefully laid plans had gone to naught and now the elves were suffering in desperate close fighting.

Summoning up his reserves of courage, the elf hero fought valiantly. His sword sliced through beastman flesh, unleashing black blood and yet the beasts didn't pause in their savage fury. They hacked and slashed in wide arcs, throwing elf bodies from them. Mithrean backed his horse off, glancing left and right. All around him, elves died defending him. The clamour of war broke unwanted against his senses. The High Elf banner was trampled into the mud. The Ellyrian Reavers were pulled from their horses and stabbed to death by multiple attackers. The mage was sliced in half, his body flopping to the ground like a broken doll. This was no battle; this was a massacre. There was only one thing he could do.

'To hell with the artefacts! Retreat! Retreat! We must retreat!' Mithrean turned his horse, dismayed to find the company musician already dead and his horn lying smashed and broken beneath the Blood Hunter's feet. It was too late. As the last of the spearelves were brutally cut down, Mithrean fled, his warhorse kicking up clods of earth in its haste.

A giant, bronze axe slashed the horse's legs from beneath it. With a whinny of terror, it died as the next blow decapitated it. Mithrean struggled upright and rushed towards the archers of Sea Company. Here they would go down in history.

'Last stand of Sea Company!' He roared and the archers nocked arrows to bows. 'Fire!' Another Minotaur was pin-cushioned and collapsed, a last howl of agony ripping from its jaws. All across the plateau beastmen hacked down the last of their foes. Only Sea Company stood, defiant. Aeolus perched atop a heap of elven dead like a hungry raven and chuckled. They would not last long. Andariel's Kingdom had been forged in blood and death. The Blood Hunters, their red eyes blazing with bloodlust, thundered down on the archers.

'Go,' the archer captain told his commander. 'Go, we'll cover your retreat.'

'Never,' Mithrean twirled his bloodied sword. 'I'll…'

'Go!' The archer shrieked at him as the Minotaurs drew closer. 'You alone must live…live to inform our Lord Menethal!'

Mithrean sighed. The archer was right. Grimacing, he gripped the other elf's shoulder tightly, before releasing him and running towards the eastern side of the plateau, and safety.

THROUGH BLOOD AND DEATH, A DARK KINGDOM IS BORN


	2. Rain of Ithilmar

BATTLE REPORT

HIGH ELVES VS CHAOS HORDES

RAIN OF ITHILMAR

Commander Mithrean of Menethal's Expeditionary Force has rejoined his ship and now the High Elves are mustering another army to launch a raid on Andariel's Kingdom. Mithrean is sure an ancient relic lies deep in the temple, but with the plateau heavily defended the only way to get inside is to distract the Slaaneshi troops. If the plan is successful, a small band of elves could get inside and retrieve the artefact. But if Andariel's forces win there could be no escape.

SCENARIO STATISTICS

**Points:**

1000

**Participants:**

High Elves

(Stuart Nichols)

Chaos Hordes

(Mark Wilson)

**Scenario:**

Pitched Battle

**Location:**

Sunstone Isle, east coast of the Southlands

**Timeline: **2522 (Empire Calendar)

THE ARMIES

**High Elves:**

Prince Menethal's Expeditionary Force

**General:**

Commander Mithrean

**Chaos Hordes:**

Tribe of the Mighty Serpent

**General:**

Andariel Serpentsword

THE STORY SO FAR…

Aeolus Scarheart, Exalted Daemon of Cronus, and Champion of Andariel, has forged a Kingdom for his Slaaneshi allies through blood and death. The ruined temple at this new realm's heart is now under the control of Andariel and her army. Cronus is now credited with no less than three stones of power. However, Commander Mithrean is furious and determined to get his hands on any artefacts that may lie within the temple – his opportunity having been taken away when the Horns of Hellfire attacked and defeated his forces. Making an all-out assault on the temple is suicide, so Mithrean has decided to stage a diversion to draw the Chaos forces away from the plateau. If his plan works, a band of elf scouts can infiltrate the temple and attempt to steal any relics within. The only problem is that if Mithrean fails to beat the Chaos army there may well be no escape for the scouts should they find any artefacts…

TURN 1

'My lord,' the High Elf captain of Sapphire Company nodded his head slightly. 'The enemy is amassing. Our plans won't fail this time.' Around him stood the shining, disciplined ranks of the spearelves, the light glittering on their polished ithilmar speartips.

'I hope not, captain.' Mithrean tugged the reins in tight and held back his impatient, elven steed. He grimaced, his eyes flickering over the Slaaneshi warriors. They were numerous, but he was confident of victory. The elves were superior to these barbarian savages. Unconsciously, a smirk made its way across his face. 'This time, I will crush them.'

The High Elf forces were gathered, their firepower ready to spell death to the chaos troops. The Shore Riders reined in their steeds, checking arrows and bowstrings. The archers of Sea Company stood resolutely, a zephyr tugging playfully with the feathers on their faceplates. If this strategy worked, it would guarantee the elves a relic that rightfully belonged to them.

Andariel narrowed her slanted eyes as she gazed spitefully at the elves. She would be wary, for the elves were known to be tactically masterful. They were far more intelligent than hated humans and far more a pleasure to fight than unwholesome beasts. War was an art, and who better to star upon the stage of war but herself in combat against the elves. This would be interesting indeed.

'Hurry up, you useless fools,' she spat as her men, heavily armoured warriors and brutal barbarian marauders, manoeuvred themselves into position. 'I lust…'

This was her kingdom. And she had no intention of losing it, especially now. Aeolus would not be pleased. Thoughts of him ebbed and flowed in her mind. Today he was gathering more beasts and monsters to Cronus' standard. But he was ever with her.

With a bestial bellow halfway between a hiss and a snarl, the Fiend slithered forwards, its great coils moving across the ground with surprising speed.

'Glory to the Serpent!'

Ranks of Marauders began their resolute march towards the elves, slamming their weapons against shields in unison. They were a fearsome sight, horned helmets glinting in the early morning. The Chaos Warriors also marched forwards, smashing their way through jungle plants with impunity. They headed for the flanks of the battlefield, skirting a jungle oasis that sparkled and glistened as a small stream bounced from shining rocks into a deep, crystal pool. The Slaaneshi champion marched with them, the lower half of her body slinking through the undergrowth with the agility and grace of the mightiest of serpents.

'For the glory of the Pleasure God!' A warcry escaped from Andariel's lips.

On the far side of the field, a massive burst of light exploded from a central corona of purple energy. With a shrill scream of delight, the Handmaidens ruptured the material plane as they spilled out to aid their commander. Targeting the Shore Riders as the elven scouts pulled back their bowstrings, the daemons raised their blade-arms menacingly and advanced.

The winds of magic were weak. He could feel them straining, even as he reached out to draw the power he needed for this minor spell. Finally, energy pooled in his mind and he unleashed it upon the enemy. With a faint sheen, a shimmering in the air settled in the vicinity of the marauders. He smiled. This was what he wanted, it would do, for now.

'Sea Company fire!'

As one, a cloud of arrows fell like a rain of ithilmar upon the Slaaneshi soldiers. Three men went down, arrowheads punching savagely into their throats with deadly accuracy. Another man collapsed as a further arrow unleashed by the Shore Riders bit into his side.

'Eagle's Claw! Fire!' Six giant bolts descended like heavenly scythes, cutting down two more men. The barbarians wavered, but their resolve held.

Then Commander Mithrean raised his own bow and took careful aim.

'Prepare to meet your gods, human filth,' he snarled. Pulling back slightly harder, he fired. The arrow sped from his weapon like a bolt of lightning, and struck true. It slammed through a Chaos Warrior's helm before sticking fast in the breastplate of another. They fell to the ground with a clank of ornate armour. But before the warrior hit the ground two more of his brethren were slashed down by fire from the gods as the second Eagle's Claw unleashed its payload. It didn't look good for the Tribe of the Mighty Serpent.

'Curses upon you, high born,' Andariel growled, twirling her swords.

TURN 2

Its tongue lashing around tree trunks and tearing them viciously from its path, the fiend rampaged onwards, cutting through the jungle. Soon it would upon the prey, and then it could feed.

With shields raised against the rain of fire, the marauders continued their steady advance. Heading towards the Shore Riders, they roared their battlecries and jeered insults at the elves, daring them to face the Northmen in honourable combat. Naturally, the only reply they got was a cold stare as the Ellyrians once again raised their bows.

With the rest of the army advancing, Andariel gritted her teeth. She cursed the lack of missile troops in her warband, something that many chaos forces did without. But the elves would die when she reached their lines. She would see to it personally.

'Sapphire Company, advance!'

As the spearelves marched forwards warily, the front rank lowering their tall spears, the Shore Riders fired upon the marauders again. But the raised shields of the Northmen provided adequate cover. Arrows stuck fast or bounced off, providing the men with an opportunity to shake their fists and roar with anger. One of the men broke ranks and waved his axe.

'Face us in battle, cowards! Face us, and you will die!'

'Prepare to unleash doom upon those men,' Mithrean shouted at Sea Company. He motioned with his sword at one of the Eagle's Claws too. 'The flank must be defended!' He nocked another arrow and slitted his eyes. War was not a game. War was death. And he would not tolerate being called a coward.

'You call it cowardice, I call it strategy,' he spat.

'Sea Company, fire!'

No less than five marauders were slain in the crossfire. This was their whole front rank, dropped like dolls with their strings cut. The boisterous man took an arrow in the chest. Ripping it free, he fell to his knees as blood blossomed and he dropped his axe from nerveless fingers. As more arrows flew towards them, cutting them down like wheat, the marauders panicked and fled.

TURN 3

The Handmaidens looked upon the fleeing humans and liked it not. These were warriors? The majority of their number remained, and they had lost heart for the pleasure that was battle. And they had accused the elves of cowardice. As they thundered through the daemons' ranks, the unholy beings raised their fiendish claws. Men fell, sliced from neck to groins. Blood spurted in fountains and limbs were severed from bloodied corpses. The wicked claws lashed out and spared none. The marauders were slaughtered and the daemons smiled with sinister satisfaction. Those who were weak did not deserve to fight.

The fiend burst from the undergrowth and surged towards Sapphire Company. Its serpentine body weaved from side to side and its tongue tasted the elves scent.

As the Handmaidens advanced on the Shore Riders, flaunting their naked bodies and their eyes flashing with desire, the bodyguards of Andariel continued their relentless march towards the spearelves.

'Faster, curs,' Andariel shrieked, her blades spinning in anticipation. She could almost feel her weapons cleaving the enemies' flesh; see the glitter and sparkle of the art of battle. She could almost taste it on the tip of her tongue, and hear the clash on weapons in the air.

'Damn you, chaos sorcerer!' The winds were still feeble, as the sorcerer read aloud the dispel from his parchment scroll, the magical energy quickly dissipated.

'Fire!' The Eagle's Claw scythed down three of the evil daemonesses as they converged on the Shore Riders. Purple flames gushed into the air as the daemons were vanquished back their own realm, licking and burning at the grass underfoot. An enraged scream accompanied them as they vanished. Unperturbed, the elves reloaded their war machine.

Andariel ducked as a stray bolt flew overhead. Curse the weapons of missile users! Hopefully she could wreak vengeance upon them. Let's see what use the bolts would be against her six swords in close combat. As she watched the elves, another arrow embedded itself in the fiend's silky hide. It didn't even acknowledge the arrow protruding from his shoulder, sliding forwards with eagerness towards the spearelves.

TURN 4

Slithering like the gigantic serpent that it was, the fiend's eyes glowed with hate as it approached Sapphire Company. The Slaanesh army advanced still, intent on closing with the enemy. Men had been lost; the first blood had gone to the elves. A single elf had yet to fall.

'Engage!' The captain of Sapphire Company raised his sword and the elves about his readied their spears. 'Charge!'

The shining spears struck the serpent with the fury of Khaine. Blood spilt and stained the jungle floor but the monster fought on, the light wounds doing nothing to slow it down. Neither could it harm the serried ranks of elves, whose resolution held firm. Andariel's eyes lit up as she heard the clash of weapons. Finally, battle had been joined.

'All forces, fire!' Menethal roared, waving his sword in a gleaming arc. Arrows fell amongst the Handmaidens, dissipating two more of the daemonic mistresses in leaping gusts of violent fire. Andariel ducked and dodged her snake body as the combined fire from the repeater bolt throwers and the elven commander whizzed into the Chaos Warriors, striking down her last seven fighters. She shrieked in anger, her swords yelling for death.

TURN 5

With a cry that spoke of lust and also battle frenzy, the Handmaidens crashed into the Shore Riders. Curved talons whipped out, slicing the steeds apart and slashing with furious lust and savage delight as the elves were toppled to the ground. They leapt to their feet, only to be cut down like children before the daemons' vengeful wrath. Elven blood soaked the earth. Not one Daemonette fell in return, the last Ellyrians' swords scraped on iron-hard, white flesh. Having watched their fellows butchered and nearly surrounded, they turned tail and ran, the Daemonettes hot on their heels.

The Chaos Sorcerer roared and charged against Sapphire Company. Without the Chaos Warriors it was a risk. But it was a risk worth taking. His lady Andariel was furious. She would deal with the elf upstart while he held off the infantry with the fiend. An elf's neck seemed to stand out from the crowd as his blade swept through it. A spear shaft interposed itself but his blade cut straight through it and decapitated the elf with a spray of blood. The spearelves quickly surged forwards to surround the sorcerer. This was not a good position, he thought, retreating from the press of scale mail and long shafted spears. The fiend could deal with them.

'For the great glory of his worship Slaanesh!' Andariel's swords slashed through the air as she rose to meet the elven Commander.

'Prepare to die, daemon!' Mithrean responded, his slender blade crossing her six.

The duel was short, and brutal. Andariel, a champion of the god of pleasure, six-armed and lusting for elven blood, slashed and hacked with wild passion. Her blades were like lightning, striking with infinite speed and dexterity, inflicting many light wounds and cutting through Mithrean's armour. But the elf commander was determined to win this fight. He deflected most of the blows, twisting around the champion's attacks and using his elven athletic ability to defend himself. A whirlwind of steel surrounded the leaders. Mithrean's blade parried and thrust, slashing across Andariel's body, unleashing purple blood.

'Asuryan, give me strength!'

Then his downwards stroke cut through one of her arms. The limb fell, writhing, its hand clenching and unclenching around the sword hilt. The champion of Slaanesh shrieked in rage and, glaring her hatred, slithered backwards out of his sword arc. He urged his horse forwards.

'Come, witch, its time to finish this!'

'You bastard,' she snarled, 'my arm! You have my oath, I will finish you one day.' Turning, she fled back into the jungle.

With the chaos army in tatters and their leader making her retreat, Mithrean wasted no time giving his troops new orders.

'All units, fire!'

Sea Company nocked and fired, bringing three more Handmaidens down in a blaze of indigo flames. A well placed bolt from one of the Eagle's Claws brought the Chaos Sorcerer low, the bolt slamming through his body and erupting from his chest with a gout of blood. Another two Handmaidens exploded with another burst of purplish light as the other Eagle's Claw struck with righteous vengeance. Mithrean himself drew a bead on the Slaaneshi Daemonettes from the far side of the field. Pulling his bowstring taught, he fired. It was a good shot, the arrow passing straight through a Handmaiden's neck and embedding itself in the ground.

Another elf died as the fiend wrapped its tentacle-like tongue around his neck and snapped it back, breaking the vertebrae.

'Slay the beast,' the captain shouted, and stabbing spears punched like assassins' daggers down into the smooth hide. Gouging into it, the elves splashed blood upon their white robes as they sought to bring the vile monster down.

TURN 6

The Ellyrian Reavers stood firm once again against the Daemonic threat. This was their last stand, a chance to prove themselves worthy of honour.

The clash of spears rang across the field, and the victory shouts of the elves rose as they finally killed the spawn of Slaanesh.

'Onwards, to victory! The enemy falls! The chaos worshippers fall before us!'

The Shore Riders took heart but still the Handmaidens were too powerful. The cruel claws swept one of them bloodily from his mount, and seeing his comrade slain so quickly, the other fled.

But the High Elves had claimed the field.

THROUGH ARCHERY VICTORIOUS

Mithrean stood aboard the deck of the Revanche. The sky overhead was periwinkle blue, and the ship creaked gently in a cool wind. Kemlon, the elf charged with retrieving the relic from the temple, bowed. Behind him stood his company of scouts.

'Commander, I have returned, and present you with this sword. It was as you thought, a relic had been hidden in the depths of the temple.' He handed over the artefact, hilt first. The strange weapon shone with an unearthly light; glowing runes burning brightly on its twisted blade.

'Foe Bane,' Mithrean read. 'This is a fine sword.'

'It is, commander. I took it from a Chaos Champion who was guarding it. He fought with great strength, but I was able to defeat him. I believe Lord Menethal will be pleased.'

'He will, young Kemlon. Congratulations are in order for your part in this. I will see to it that you are rewarded with the appropriate honours.'

'You are kind, my lord.'

'Well, I had best give Lord Menethal the good news. Loose the sails! We depart for Ulthuan!'

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	3. Dark Charm

BATTLE REPORT

HIGH ELVES VS DARK ELVES

DARK CHARM

The High Elves have sailed across the Great Ocean to the bleak and rugged land of Naggaroth. This is the realm of the elves' twisted cousins, the Dark Elves, and here one of the relics can be found. It is a risky venture, for if Menethal is unable to beat the Druchii host and win the artefact; chances are it will be lost forever…

SCENARIO STATISTICS

**Points:**

2000

**Participants:**

High Elves

(Stuart Nichols)

Dark Elves

(Mark Wilson)

**Scenario:**

Pitched Battle

**Location:**

Off the east coast of Naggaroth

**Timeline: **2522 (Empire Calendar)

THE ARMIES

**High Elves:**

Prince Menethal's Expeditionary Force

**General:**

Prince Menethal

**Dark Elves:**

Unnamed Dark Elf army

**General:**

Unnamed Dark Elf general

THE STORY SO FAR…

The High Elves of Prince Menethal's expeditioners have recovered one of the ancient relics belonging to the line of Dramalliel of Caledor. It is a great victory, and after returning to Ulthuan for a brief celebration, the army soon sets out north, to Naggaroth. Their next lead lies with a certain Dark Elf warband, who have recently been ostentatiously flaunting a talisman that once belonged to the ancestors of Dramalliel. By using its somewhat limited powers they have compromised their ability to keep it a secret. If Menethal can engage and beat the Dark Elf host, and wrench the talisman from their vile clutches, it will be appreciated massively by Dramalliel, and a huge victory in the ongoing war against the Druchii. But if the attack fails and the talisman is lost to the Dark Elves, there may never be another chance to reclaim it. Who knows what vile sorcery the Druchii will use upon it then, to twist and warp it for their own, evil schemes? What was once a minor relic could soon be an artefact to be used in the eternal Druchii war against the civilised races…

TURNS 1-6

The hated enemies had gathered on the blasted plains. A light breeze whipped up from the north, stirring the robes of Druchii and High kin alike. The skies overhead were a dull grey, storm clouds gathering on the horizon. This was yet another chapter of blood in the ages long feud between Light and Dark. It was another battle, another clash, another hate-fuelled bout of bitterness that echoed with the shadows of regret and pain.

Seeing no reason to hold back, the Dark Elf commander ordered the attack.

'Advance!' Dark Lord Kallegar roared, his voice sounding slightly metallic from beneath his dark iron helm. His narrow eyes flickered. The Reapers on the hills fired, their bolts slicing through the air like striking hawks. A single enemy rider was felled, a Silver Helm warrior pitched from the saddle as the bolt slammed into his breastplate. Another bolt cut down a crewman from the Eagle's Claw battery. Kallegar smiled. It proved their superiority over the High Elves' machines.

'Engage! Let not the Druchii win this fight! We need that talisman!' Prince Menethal gripped the reins of his horse tightly. The relic was so close. All they needed to do was beat this army and claim it in the name of Dramalliel. It was what should rightfully be, the prince thought. Once it was theirs, that would be two artefacts reclaimed, and their honour intact.

Sea Company opened fire, whittling down the Druchii spearelves as they approached. A whole rank of the spearelves was felled, along with two of the hated repeater crossbowmen. Two vile witch elves, twirling their polished blades, also went down to the Shadow Warriors. But it wasn't enough. Menethal could see that it would be a hard fought battle this day.

As the two armies advanced on each other across the rugged plain, one could almost feel the immaterial hate filling the air. Menethal ordered his cavalry forward, feeling the loss of each High Elf keenly. Already one of his Silver Helms had fallen: such a price would be repaid in blood upon the Druchii scum. He hated the Reapers, knowing what a vulnerable position he was in. As if to testify to his line of thought, he heard the telltale whistling of more bolts descending through the darkening skies. Ducking instinctively, he gritted his teeth in anger as three more Silver Helms were punched from their steeds.

'No…Druchii bastards!'

It was time for vengeance.

'Charge!'

The remaining Silver Helms, led by their prince, thundered into the Druchii spearelves. Blades flashed like lightning bolts and black shields were raised against the god-like charge.

'You will die for your existence!' Menethal scythed down a Druchii warrior as the riders smashed into the dark elves. His horse reared up and brought its silver-shod hooves cracking down on another's skull, caving it in with little resistance. The glittering lances of the Silver Helms impaled two more, and the thick of combat ensued. Through the fighting Menethal spied the Druchii general, mounted on his great, scaly beast.

'Coward! Face me and hand over the talisman!'

'Never, vile one of Ulthuan! It's mine now, mine!' Kallegar's voice was filled with spite. 'And death to anyone who retreats! Kill the Ulthuan scum!'

Sapphire Company crashed into the dark elf chariot, rendering it useless as they struck out at it with their long-shafted weapons. Commander Mithrean was amongst them. He hacked with his sword, slaying the first crewman with a blow to the gorget, slicing through armour, flesh and bone. The second elf came at him, but he dodged beneath the wild swing and slashed up into the warrior's heart. As the cold ones were butchered by the spearelves around him, he shouted his encouragement and Sapphire Company surged forwards into the Executioners, shining scales glinting and speartips stabbing like serpents.

The winds of magic began to howl, slowly at first, but stronger. The High Mage closed his eyes and focussed his mind. This relic was his. If he were to reclaim it, he would need to assist Menethal's army and use his formidable powers. He was eager to exact revenge on the Druchii filth. A furrow formed in his forehead as he tapped into the magical winds and gathered the power he required.

A burst of flames sprang from Dramalliel's palm and engulfed the Executioners. Three mailed warriors ignited, bright sparks against the drab surroundings of the rocky terrain.

As the howling Witch Elves rushed towards Sapphire Company, their swords gleaming, the Reapers fired again. The deathly rain fell, killing two proud Dragon Princes as they moved to support their Ulthuan comrades. The Shore Riders also suffered five casualties, victims to the lethal fire of the Druchii crossbowmen. As the last of their number suicidally charged his foes, the Druchii levelled their repeater crossbows and took aim.

Menethal hacked and cut all around him. He and his remaining knights were being surrounded by the press of dark elf bodies. They would soon be cut off, and the grinning Kallegar was still clutching the talisman about his throat. If he died here, the talisman would forever be in Druchii hands.

'Retreat!' As the High Elf prince spurred his steed to leap over the heads of his foes, followed by the Silver Helm captain, the other knight was pulled from his steed and stabbed. Trying to ignore the death of another comrade, Menethal and his captain galloped away, pursued by the hated Druchii. Then the Dragon Princes crashed into the Druchii flank.

'Die, Ulthuan traitor!' The Dark Elf Assassin was suddenly amongst the High Elf ranks, ripping through bodies and staining the ground with the blood of his victims. Then Mithrean fought his way through the spearelves towards the black-cloaked elf. He parried the coming blow, then swept his blade up through the assassin's guard.

'Now its time for you to die,' he spat, taking off the assassin's head. Blood spurted onto his armour but a victorious smile spread across his face. As the battle increased in its ferocity, spearelves falling to the huge blades of the Executioners and the ripping talons of the Witch Elves, Mithrean sprang into the ranks of the Druchii. He was a whirlwind of death, cutting about him and driving them away in a panicked retreat. The witch elves held firm though, and their evil cackling filled the air with dread as they fought on.

Dramalliel gestured at the Cold One Knights. Weaving his hand in a complex symbol, he cast a Curse of Arrow Attraction upon them. The Shadow Warriors' fire then threw two of the Druchii riders from the saddle, just as the Eagle's Claws opened fire. Another Druchii knight was killed, and a single crossbowman fell, his ribcage skewered by an accurate shot.

'And now its your turn, crones,' Mithrean snarled, hacking his way through the witch elves. Around him Sapphire Company slashed and stabbed a bloody path, chasing down their foes and trampling them into the dust. The Cold One Knights were ahead, and taking the impetus of the elves' victory, Mithrean directed his elves into the loathsome knights.

Mithrean spotted Kallegar, and the talisman. Without a second's thought he challenged the enemy general to a duel.

'Fight me, and hand over that charm!'

'Only if you can take it from me, scum!'

The ring of blades split the air as both sides parted to make way for their leaders. Neither could best the other, they were so evenly matched in skill. Both hated the other openly, and sparks flew from the contact of their swords. The battlefield reverberated with the favourite sound of war: the clash of steel on steel as mighty heroes fought.

As the constant rain of ithilmar continued, killing the crew of a Reaper and cutting into the crossbows, Menethal reined in his steed and prepared for a re-charge. It was time to turn the tide again.

'Charge!' The Silver Helms rumbled into the Druchii spears again and this time the Druchii couldn't stand against them. Menethal's yelling sword killed any who stood in his way. With the spearelves eradicated, the prince overran up the hill and into the crossbows.

The Druchii blade bit deep into Mithrean's shoulder. Gritting his teeth in agony as Kallegar wrenched free his sword, he watched as the dark elf raised his weapon again.

'Time to die, Ulthuan filth.' The sword hilt came crashing down to knock the commander unconscious. Sapphire Company was locked in ferocious battle against the Cold One knights. Soon, they took bloody revenge and drove their foes back. Kallegar was forced to retreat.

'You may have won this battle, but the talisman is MINE!' He laughed as he fled.

The Executioners held their ground against the triumphant spearelves but Menethal sliced down the last of the crossbows. The battle was won, but the relic was lost.

A RELIC FALLS INTO DRUCHII HANDS

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